


Heaven Knows Your Name

by BleakCinema



Series: Joyeux Noel [2]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: F/M, Scars, Wingman Jesse, mercykill - Freeform, wingman genji
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-10
Updated: 2016-12-10
Packaged: 2018-09-07 17:59:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,579
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8810626
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BleakCinema/pseuds/BleakCinema
Summary: Normally, he didn’t mind it.  It was a face like any other.  Sometimes he was even proud of his damage, each one proof that he’d lived.  Each one was his silent, smug declaration of “you should see the other guy”.  But tonight was different.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [princessalistair](https://archiveofourown.org/users/princessalistair/gifts).



Gabriel was late.

 

He knew as he stood there staring into the small, smeary mirror in his quarters that not only was he late, but Morrison would have his ass for it.  It would probably be done via a formal notification in neat 12-point font and delivered through regulated channels, but that didn’t lessen the dread that coiled in his belly.  Enough years kissing the UN’s ass had taught Strike Commander Prom King how to be as terrifying in bureaucracy as he was in the battlefield.  Gabe would swing for this.  

 

Not only was the head of Blackwatch late, but he was tardy for one of the most prestigious events of the year.

 

Every winter, Zurich HQ hosted a gala open to any agents worldwide who could find the time and the means to attend.  The gala was an all-inclusive party free of denominational leanings or any one particular nationality, the central hall dominated traditionally by the gleaming symbol of Overwatch instead of a tree.  It was a time to celebrate those who had made it another year, to toast those the organization had lost, to celebrate peace, and to come together in good will.  

 

And, Gabriel thought on a more bitter note, it also boasted a bevy of UN hindquarters he would, no doubt, be expected to nuzzle up to alongside Morrison.  

 

Yes, one of the biggest unofficial UN inspections of the year and here was Gabriel Reyes picking over himself in the mirror like a mooning teenager off to their first big prom.  He couldn’t see much of himself in that small, dappled surface, but he carefully scrutinized what he could.  The lines of his tuxedo were as immaculate as he could manage in the cramped space he was granted, the planes of it spreading over his defined musculature and nipping in neatly at his tapered waist.  His bow-tie was even and center.  He’d groomed his beard to cover the rough patches left over from an injury he’d picked up last week when a covert ops mission had gone wrong in Sao Paulo.  His eyes lingered on the damage, then slowly worked up to the rest of his face.

 

It was a roadmap of abuse.

 

He reached up with one hand to trace over the gouge than ran across the bridge of his nose, a gift left from putting down an arms dealer in Hong Kong.  He’d fucked the guy up but good afterwards, but the injury had never healed quite right since it had been left untended so long before he was able to get to medical attention.  Next he found the pinked starburst just on his left temple, a close scrape with a Bastion unit during the Crisis.  There were others.  There were so many others, little white lines cut against the dark of his complexion until he looked like a tapestry of pain.

 

Normally, he didn’t mind it.  It was a face like any other.  Sometimes he was even proud of his damage, each one proof that he’d lived.  Each one was his silent, smug declaration of “you should see the other guy”.  But tonight was different.

 

He prodded at an old scar on his neck just under the right side of his chin.  He’d tried to hide that one with a bit of concealer in an unusual fit of vanity.  He’d gotten as far as one before choking on his own idiocy and throwing the stuff away.  

 

Growling, Gabe clutched at the edges of the regulation sink, listening to the metal groan under his fierce grip.  He couldn't believe he was frozen like this.  Hell, he'd once charged into an active war zone with only a knife, but now he could barely budge.  Then, he heard the tell-tale jingle of something that could only be spurs at the periphery of his awareness and cursed his life three times over.  He heard the idiot cowboy coming even before he heard the knock at the edge of his door, the pneumatic hiss of it opening.  Hadn’t he taught that stupid kid a damn thing?

 

A scruffy head poked around the door frame and McCree let out a low whistle, “Lookin’ mighty fine, boss man.”

 

Reyes turned a gimlet glare on the ingrate, “What is it, brat?”

 

Ever unperturbed by the bigger man’s temper, the skinny little cowboy just tipped up his absolutely ridiculous hat (which looked three time as ludicrous with the tux he’d been wrangled into), “Jes’ makin’ my way over to go meet up with Genji.  Thought I’d mosey in an’ see if y’all had decided to man up yet.”

 

He was going to throw that kid off a building one of these days.  A tall one.  He wouldn’t even bother to make it look like an accident.  No jury in the world would convict him.

 

The Blackwatch commander pulled himself up to his full height and folded his arms over his chest, a display meant to tell McCree it was time to back off if he knew what was good for him.  He didn’t even speak, just postured and waited for the thick kid to get the damn message.

 

Unfortunately, McCree never had known what was good for him.

 

He just flashed those pearly whites and had the cajones to _wink_ at him, “Y’know, y’all are worried for nothin’, right?  She’s excited you asked her.  But, if’n you don’t scoot on over there, she’s gonna think you’ve gone and stood her up.”

 

It took the fight out of Reyes and he stared at McCree with those dark, dark eyes of his, “...From what I understand, Genji isn’t a patient man.  You’d better get your ass out of here.”

 

When it still didn’t look like McCree was going to budge, he added, “I’m coming, _pendejo._  Now scram.”

 

Jesse’s mad coyote-grin got impossibly wider and he shot his CO a saucy salute before running off down the hall to meet his own date, spurs jingling insanely all the way.  In his head, Reyes counted up all the laps the little bastard was going to have to do when all of this was over.  The simple arithmetic of torment calmed him while he stepped out of the room, locked it, and departed for the gala.

__________

 

When he arrived at the Main Hall, Reyes very nearly turned an about face and went right back to his quarters to brood the evening away in peace and quiet.  

 

Every inch of the normally spartan hall was festooned from floor to ceiling in draperies of blue, gold, and white, resplendent and glowing softly under merry lighting.  A plush carpet in the deepest shade of royal blue ran from the entrance all the way up to the vast picture window that dominated the far wall.  The lights of Zurich beyond twinkled like fallen stars in the glass, points of luminescence against the stark white of the snow collecting on the ground outside.  Reyes saw this every year, but it never failed to stagger him just how much this place could change in a few hours.  Every year it went from a hall that welcomed him home to a swank wonderland where he barely fit in at all.

 

Voices in a hundred languages echoed all around him, bouncing off of the vaulted ceilings and crashing over one another like waves on a beach.  Tongues he knew blended together with ones he’d never been able to learn until it was a mish-mash of comprehension that had a headache thundering powerfully behind his left eye.  Faces blended together in his vision, overwhelming and multitudinous.  To cope while he stood there choking on his own tongue, he began picking out the ones he knew; agents from the base and what few he could call friends.

 

Most of Blackwatch either hadn’t been invited or had skipped out to get roaring drunk on their own section of the base.  McCree was only present because Genji had asked him to be his date for the evening (now there was a pair Reyes was personally too horrified to even try and figure out).  There were other faces he recognized though, like the massive German, Reinhardt, all decked out in his uniform and cavorting with Amari’s little girl.  The woman herself watched the two with a distant but fond expression that nobody else had ever been able to coax out of her, not even Golden Boy Jack.  Speaking of the devil...there was the Strike Commander over by a refreshment table, looking uncomfortably split between talking to someone who appeared to be the Algerian ambassador and wanting to rescue the Prime Minister of New Zealand (who had been cornered by an enthusiastic Lena).

 

He didn’t see the person he had actually come for until he looked closer to a hidden corner by the dance floor.  A flash of familiar gold caught his eye and then there she was, standing alone and looking out a window to watch the snow fall.   Dr. Angela Ziegler

 

The rest of the noisy hall faded away as he took her all in.

 

She stood in a corner where the light was muted, pale and statuesque in the semi-darkness.  The young doctor wore a sheath gown in the softest of whites only a hue darker than undriven snow, elegant and feminine without flaunting a thing.  Turned mostly away from him, Gabriel could see where it draped off the slope of her shoulders, dipping down the strong arch of her spine in a cowl back, shadows gathering in the folds of the silken fabric.  They honeygold fall of her hair sat in a neat coif atop her head, sparks of light catching in the mobius loops if it.  Gabriel Reyes had never been a religious man, but he was relatively sure that in this frozen moment of time he could learn to believe in angels.

 

Reyes stood unmoving, watching Dr. Ziegler watch the world outside and unwilling to disturb her until he felt a sharp elbow in his back.

 

He turned in time to see McCree sauntering by, eyebrows wagging like a demented cartoon character, there and gone too quickly to properly tear into.

 

When he turned back, Dr. Ziegler’s deep azure eyes locked on his and she was smiling in something that looked like relief.  It seemed like McCree’s little stunt had drawn her attention and Reyes would hate the snot-nosed little cowboy a lot more if the angel weren’t walking over to him right now.  The hem of her dress rustled ever so slightly against the floor when she moved, drawing all of his major senses directly to her.  The soldier felt his spine go rigid as she approached, naturally snapping to attention and almost completely missing when she spoke over the ringing in his own ears.

“Gabriel, what a relief.  I was worried you had changed your mind.  I thought perhaps you were not coming,” she said in a lilting, birdsong tone.

 

Clearing his throat, he said, “I got caught up.”

 

She laughed, the sound a little self deprecating, “I was so worried I would be here all alone in this ridiculous thing.”

 

Now that got his attention.

 

Gabriel scoffed and raised one big hand, gesturing to the goddess gown she wore that reflected simple candle light like moonlight on snow, “Ridiculous?”

 

“Well, it certainly is not me, ja? Genji...he insisted it was better for a party.”

 

The smile never left her face and she looked downright bashful.  It had the effect of making her look like a little girl caught playing in mummy’s good dresses.  Thinking about it, the soldier realized he’d never seen her in anything like this before.  He’d seen her harried and sweaty in scrubs at 3am, seen her dressed in sharp pantsuits and cardigans when she was required to liaise with the UN, had witnessed the awe-inspiring Valkyrie suit, and of course knew the sight of her lab coats very well.  It was part of the reason he had become so fond of her, really.  She was a creature of substance over style, as unfit for the trappings of finery as he was.  Her beauty came from her indelible strength and staunch intellectual ferocity, from her unswerving and tenacious nature.

 

Feeling a sort of heat in his chest, Reyes reached up to pluck at his own suit, “Yeah, I get it.  This monkey-suit isn’t for me either.”

 

“Do not let Winston hear you say that,” Angela play-whispered, leaning in conspiratorially.

 

The cheek of it surprised a gruff laugh out of Gabriel.

 

He jumped a bit when, in the very next instant, small, cool fingers touched the underside of his jaw right over the scar he’d tried to cover up.  Hell.  Angela must have seen it when she leaned in so close.

 

“What is this?” She asked in a voice so low it was meant only for the two of them.

 

Gabe’s jaw tightened in embarrassment and he couldn’t reply.  Heat crept up his neck while Angela watched him in confusion.  It worsened by degrees until a look of realization dawned in her big blue eyes, her smile softening.  With infinite gentleness, she reached up to cradle his face, using the thumb of one hand to wipe the rest of the concealer away.  Benevolently, she didn’t make him answer her question, spared his pride by nodding instead.  She didn’t pull her hands away, leaning in a bit closer instead.

 

“Gabriel, I do not mind them.  I helped heal many of them, in case you have forgotten,” her smile turned mischievous, “I knew who you were when you asked me, so the vanity is entirely unnecessary.”

 

“In that case,” the LA native said, feeling emboldened by both her kindness and her closeness, “What would you say to a dance before Morrison drags me off to tear me a new one?”

 

Her smile faltered slightly and she sounded much less sure when she told him, “I...cannot dance.  It is not something I ever took the time to learn.”

 

“Well, you’ve got all night and a guy who’s danced at enough of his little sisters’ Quinceaneras to teach you.  What do you say, doctor?”

 

He held out a hand in the way he supposed gentlemen were supposed to

 

“It’s Angela.  And...yes.  I believe I would like that very much.”

 

When the Valkyrie took his hand, Gabriel Reyes was _sure_ he believed in angels.

 

 

 

Author's Notes

\- This fic was a gift for Princessalistair who requested the prompt couple "MercyKill" and the trope/stipulation of "Pre-Fall"

\- The title comes from the song "I Love You Too Much" from the film "Book of Life".

\- For the record, Jack isn't a kiss-up asshole.  I believe Pre-Fall he had a lot of cards on the table and he had to make sure everything was in order, hence the need to play the bureaucracy games.

\- In my head, Angela Ziegler should never be purely defined for her looks.  She's a genius and a selfless humanitarian, and I like the idea that she values the utilitarian more than pretty things.  That isn't to say she totally ignores aesthetic, it's just not her first instinct.

\- Mercy's dress inspired by this design: https://parkersanpei.files.wordpress.com/2012/05/alix_kelly_wedding_dress.jpg

\- Again, to all of my readers whether you comment, kudos, or don't I'm so grateful to have you.  I'm happy if I can provide something you can enjoy.  Whatever holiday you celebrate, I hope it's a good one.  Be good to each other.

\- Keep the Watch. 


End file.
